


playing with someone's hair is something that can be so personal & tender

by unicyclehippo



Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [37]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25220887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicyclehippo/pseuds/unicyclehippo
Summary: prompt: cafuné—the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you loveor,A brief interlude after the events at the Lionett estate.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Series: Blue Girls Have The Most Fun [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824289
Comments: 2
Kudos: 145





	playing with someone's hair is something that can be so personal & tender

The kid looks like a little wild man, stumbling down the steps with his hair tousled and wet in places. He looks—gods and fuck—he _looks_ like her. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes. Looks like he was lucky enough to skip getting their dad’s eyes in favour of his curls. Their father has always kept his own cropped, but the little man apparently gets to do whatever he likes, his hair all in wild tangles almost to his shoulders.

When he hugs her, Beau’s arms come around him almost without her permission. Carefully. His birth might’ve been a source of some serious fuckery in her own life but the kid…he’s blameless in it. She doesn’t want to hurt him so she’s careful to fold her arms loose around him, fingertips grazing his shoulders, barely touching.

He’s _little,_ she notes with an aching kind of panic. So fucking little. Compact, too – he’ll be a real shit kicker in a couple years. Fast, just like her.

Breathing in, Beau is hit by the wave of scent—clean water and soap and, despite the bath, the ever-present smell of Kamordah. Sulphur and jasmine, that weird mix of sweet and sour that wrinkles the nose.

She tousles his hair. Pushes it back out of his eyes as she gives him the necklace, watches him slobber over it.

* * *

‘So? How do you think it went?’ Jester asks her late that night in the cramped quarters, trying to make the plank of a bed comfortable. Beau has finally emerged from the washroom looking drained. Empty. ‘Beau?’

It takes a moment for the girl to register her name being called, eyes snapping over to Jester a full two, three seconds slower than she ordinarily might.

‘Huh?’

‘How do you think it went?’

‘Good. Fine. Yeah. Good,’ Beau says with all of her usual bluster.

Jester stops trying to fix the bed—despite her eternal optimism, it’s maybe a lost cause—and fixes Beau with stern look. ‘Be- _au_. Don’t – you can _talk_ to me, Beau.’

‘I mean, shit, he didn’t exactly fall to the ground and weep and tear his shirt and tell me he’s missed me every fuckin’ day and he’s sorry he fucked up or whatever.’

‘Is that really what you thought he’d do?’

Beau throws her a sharp, thin smile. ‘No,’ she admits and throws herself heavily down to her bed. ‘Ow.’

Jester winces. ‘Yah, these beds are _really_ uncomfortable.’

‘I swear it wasn’t this shitty when I was fifteen. I mean, it totally might’ve been – I _was_ fifteen at the time. Thought I was invincible, y’know.’

Jester grins. Drops down onto the bed beside Beau. ‘Did you want him to?’

Beau snorts. Shrugs harshly, like she’s throwing something weight off from her shoulders. Scraping a hand through her hair, a finger catches on a knot and she yanks it free roughly, nearly tearing. Jester makes a small sound of disapproval. Reaching down, she pats around her bag to find a pretty comb.

'No, Jes, I don't need -'

'Let me do it.'

'I don't need you to brush my hair for me. I can do it myself.'

'You don't _need_ me to but I _want_ to,' Jester tells her. 'Your hair is so pretty, please Beau, oh please let me.'

Beau scowls but it's half-hearted at best. Catching Beau’s hand before she can do it again, Jester squeezes it in warning. She drops it down into Beau’s lap where she is pleased to see Beau keeps it. Shuffling around on the bed on her knees, she shifts behind Beau to take her place and work out the knots. She starts slow, examining Beau's hair and feeling for the tangles before she begins.

‘The kid was cute,' Beau admits. 

Jester hums her agreement. The comb tugs gently, _tug tug tug,_ at the ends of Beau's hair. Not enough to hurt, just a reassuring reminder of her presence. Her knees feel warm against Beau's back and Jester gives in a little to her curiosity, brushing her fingers across the back of Beau's neck when she shifts a portion of her hair out of the way. The tattoo's surface is a little bumpy with the jewel dust embedded in it, but it isn't unpleasant. The texture adds a presence to it, a solidity to it.

‘TJ is a really cute nickname.’

‘Yeah, well, I didn’t wanna call him _Thoreau_.’ Beau nearly snarls the name.

Jester pauses in her combing. Waits for Beau’s shoulders to loosen a little from the mere mention of her father’s name before she picks up again. Then, ‘Did you like him?’

‘Who? The kid? I guess. He’s, like, two.’ Beau shrugs, nearly dislodging Jester. With an apology, she sits still again. ‘What’s not to like?’

‘That’s true. He hugged you.’

‘I—yup. I was there. I remember.’

She sounds so tired that Jester knows to leave it be. Any further questions about her dad or her mom would threaten to make Beau cry again and that’s such a strange and uncomfortable thing that Jester isn’t sure she wants to see that for a good long while. So instead, she continues brushing Beau’s hair until it is sleek and smooth and glossy. She runs her fingers through it, finding the smallest hint of wave.

'This is nice,' Beau mumbles. 'Always tugged hard, when my mum brushed my hair.'

The comment stings as Jester recalls many a morning sitting with her mama, who would comb out her hair and let her try the various perfumed scents. 'Well, it takes a little patience and a little care,' Jester says, aiming to keep her tone pleasant. 'And it looks so pretty and you're all done!'

'Mm. Thanks, Jes.'

'You're welcome.'

'Jes?'

'Mhm.'

'What does my hair smell like?'

'Um.' Jester leans in, sniffs carefully. 'Maybe...soap? And ... honey and kind of like grass. You might want to ask Cad if -'

'Jasmine?'

'No. I don't smell jasmine.'

Jester runs her hand down Beau's arm, drops a gentle kiss onto her shoulder which Beau just mumbles about and sighs happily, too tired to comment. Dropping the comb down into her back, Jester knows she should return to her own bed but she doesn't. Continues to run her hand through Beau’s hair until her friend’s shoulders relax further and she leans heavily into Jester’s side, eyes fluttering closed. A few words escape on a sigh, too quiet for Jester to hear, followed up by a small snore.

Jester rearranges them, scooting so her back is up against the wall. She lays Beau as carefully as she can onto the bed beside her and re-settles, one hand finding Beau’s scouting hand and holding her tight, the other patting and brushing over Beau’s hair. She curls a brown lock around her finger. Tries to imagine a tiny Beau, wild-haired and grinning, and her chest tightens painfully around her heart at the thought that she has so rarely seen Beau smile as wide, as happily, as easily as that little boy. Something to be fixed.


End file.
